© 2002 Mark Jeffery
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She doesn't open her mail any more.
That's as telling a sign as any of the change that's come over her.
She used to be so punctilious about things like that. Opening the mail as soon
as it arrived, paying bills when they came due, never missing a mortgage
payment.
Now the envelopes with her name on them sit on the small table inside our front
door, the pile growing a little bit more every weekday afternoon. I asked her
whether she was worried about them, and she quickly flicked through the pile and
said "There's nothing important, just some bills and statements."
Once upon a time those statements would have been filed away the day they
arrived, sorted into chronological order in the green folder in the second
drawer.
One of my shoes has worn through and she hasn't even noticed. She used to worry
that my appearance reflected upon her and she would no more have let me go out
in a worn-out shoe than she would have without straightening my hair for me.
Now my hair is growing longer and messier. I'm sure she hasn't noticed.
What's happened to her? She's in love.
I love her so much, perhaps more now than I ever did, but it's no longer me that
she's in love with.
Her self-esteem is on the rise too. If nothing else, her underwear tells me
this.
She'd been feeling down for a long time. I know it was my fault but I found
myself incapable of helping her.
When her self-esteem is low, so is her interest in sex. If she doesn't feel good
about herself she feels unattractive and unlovable.
Now, though, she's worn sexy underwear two of the last three days, silky
G-strings in bright colours. If she's feeling sexy enough to do this, she's
obviously feeling better about herself.
This is so obviously a good thing, and it would be churlish of me to begrudge
her these feelings. What still pains me is that I'm not the reason she's feeling
better than she has for such a long time.
What I feel is jealousy, pure and simple. Insane, obsessive jealousy. Why
should this be?
Jealousy is the most selfish of all emotions. Essentially it's just a fancy term
for self-pity. I can rationalise this all I like but I'm still jealous.
I love her so much, but I feel like such a failure. I watch her dress for work
in that stunning underwear, and I know that I'm not the one who made her feel
good enough to dress like that.
The woman I love, whose sadness has been beyond my reach for too long, is
finding a measure of happiness. She's found something in him that I couldn't
give her, and it's making her happy.
I know I should only be happy for her but I'm still jealous.
Nobody told me that jealousy is a physical pain, cold and twisting just under
the bottom of the rib cage. It intensifies when you least expect it, taking your
breath away with the shock.
I watched her dress last night, admiring her breasts as I have for so
many years. As she covered them the thought hit me like a physical
blow that when she uncovered them only an hour or so later it would be
for him. For him to touch and excite them. To excite her.
That's how jealousy works. Just when I think I'm making some sense of all these
emotions, a thought like that reaches out and brings me down again.
I love her so much, and I still have so much to be thankful for.
She treats me so well. I know she likes me and even still loves me in a way. She
is the best, most decent person I have been privileged to know and it must say
something good about me that she remains my closest friend.
We still talk. We talk more openly than we have for a long time. Sometimes
my obsessive need to know everything upsets her but we still talk, and not just
about our own personal soap opera.
We still sleep together. Snuggled close for physical and emotional warmth, arms
and legs entwined. She no longer wants sex from me but she still wants to sleep
with me. She has another relationship but still wants my naked body next to hers
in bed. I must have done something right to retain this loyalty.
I don't sleep well. Sex may be only a memory, but it's such a vivid memory. Over
and over in the dark I explore her body in my mind. It's as clear to me as
if I were using my eyes in daylight.
The place where the curve of her shoulder becomes the curve of her breast. The
hollow in the small of her back where I used to rest my head when she slept on
her front. The tautness of her calf muscle when she tenses her leg. All these
places were mine once and I can't believe how much their loss hurts me.
Sometimes I reach for her when she's asleep. I touch her gently, non-intrusively
although I know it's still wrong.
I cup a breast in my hand, slowly rolling the nipple between my thumb and
forefinger. I delight in the feel of it hardening at my touch. I nearly recoil
from her at the knowledge that her reaction is involuntary and that it's not for
me.
I trail my finger along the crack between the cheeks of her bottom,
brushing aside the fine, soft hairs and gently explore with my
fingertip the crinkled shape of her anus.
I let my hand rest briefly in her lush growth of pubic hair before,
with an effort, getting myself under control.
Wrapping an arm tightly around her tummy, I pull myself against her from behind.
With my body hard against hers, I try my best to clear my mind and await the
release of sleep.
I love her so much, but she loves him and he loves her.
Am I a fool to stay with her. Would anyone else understand why I'm still here?
I love her so much and I will never leave her. I know that I'll stay with her
for as long as she wants to stay with me. She's my drug and I need whatever I
can get of her.
Given time, I know I can adjust to this reduced dose, but I don't know that I
have time. Her new relationship is still evolving, and I know that she has as
little control over it as do I.
She's in love, and her heart may lead her places her mind hasn't even imagined.
Soon, I fear, she's going to be leaving me. Her love grows and pulls her a
little further from me each day.
I can't help but regret that my thoughtlessness and selfishness left her open to
these new feelings. I can't help but wish that I'd been able to make her feel
that way.
Though I know I'm losing her, I love her so much and I wish her only happiness.
Last night we went to bed and snuggled tightly against each other. "I love
you," I told her, my mouth pressed against the back of her neck.
"I love you too," she responded.
I was crying, and I think she was too.
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